


I Want You to Know

by out_there



Category: West Wing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-30
Updated: 2004-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-07 15:51:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The things Josh wants to say at Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want You to Know

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://musesfool.livejournal.com/profile)[**musesfool**](http://musesfool.livejournal.com/) as part of the ["Isn't It Iconic?" Ficlet-A-Thon](http://www.livejournal.com/users/latxcvi/174476.html). It's over the word count but it's also based on both icons, so I figure it all evens out in the end. Smooches to [](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/profile)[**oxoniensis**](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/) for an emergency beta. (Thanks, babe!)

It's Christmas again and Josh wants to say that Christmas comes every year. It comes whether you want it to or not. It comes regardless of who is in the White House, or which factions are fighting.

It comes every year, and every year she watches him.

Josh understands her watching him; she does it all the time. She has to, just to keep up with him.

But it's different at Christmas.

It's the quick, sharp glances at his hand that bother him. The way she cocks her head at Christmas carols, the way her lips purse when he tells her get out of his hair. The way she doesn't mock him, not quite as much. Everything about her says, _'I'm watching you. I care.'_ It's in her narrowed eyes, and tense shoulders. In the way she screens his calls a little more carefully over the holiday season. It screams, _'I won't let you fall apart.'_

And he feels annoyed and selfish and frustrated. Lots of words that are just synonyms for angry. That's what Christmas feels like: anger.

(Not Hanukah, because that's something he still celebrates. That's going home to his Mom, and lighting candles, and telling stories about Dad and Joanie. That's remembering who he is, and where he comes from. It's something that makes him smile and ache, in the sweetest of ways.)

But Christmas… Christmas is something different.

Christmas is loud carols, and busy shoppers, and the huge tree in the lobby. Christmas is something other people celebrate and he just wishes were over. He feels like Scrooge, but he just wishes it was January already; wishes he could start the new year now, while he still has this frustrated, nervous energy flooding his system.

Christmas, and everything that goes along with it, irritates him in too many ways to name. It's Donna's sharp looks, and Toby's grumpy version of cheer. It's Sam's perfunctory Christmas card, signed _'Sam Seaborn'_ as if Josh wouldn't recognise Sam's neat, childish script. It's CJ fussing over turkeys, and Will grinning at the decorations. It's Bartlet's speeches about cooking and gifts that no one will ever use.

The only one who seems to understand is Leo. Leo who doesn't like Christmas because Mallory spends it with Jenny; because it's a reminder that while Leo was living for his job, the rest of his family went on with their lives. Leo understands Josh's wish for the new year; understands how irritating it is to have everyone else distracted by shiny gift paper and twinkling lights when there are still things to be done.

Leo understands, but Josh still catches his gaze sliding to Josh's hand. And every time it does, Josh shifts the papers in his arms or hides his hand in his pocket. Keeps the scars out of sight.

There's part of Josh that doesn't want to hide them. He wants to hold out his hand, palm up, and force everyone to look at the spider's web of silver lines. Wants to shout, "This is who I am!" and "This is what I've done!" Wants them to know the wounds are self-inflicted. He wants them to know he did it once, just once, and almost got away with it. Wants to tell them to stop watching, because he's in control and he's not going to do it again.

(But if he did, he'd be smarter. This time he wouldn't screw up so obviously; this time they wouldn't notice it, regardless of how closely they watched. This time he'd keep control.)

Before the words even reach his tongue, he knows it's a lie.

Knows that if he were in control, his palm wouldn't be dissected by faint scars. Knows that if he did it again, they'd notice. Not because they watch him like hawks over the holiday season, but because they're smart people. Because they care in a way that's frustrating and annoying and embarrassing, but it's genuine.

It doesn't make him hate Christmas any less, but it makes him ignore the sharp glances, makes him hold back his own bile. It makes him force a grin on his face and ask Donna about her Christmas plans. And when she asks about Christmas, he doesn't say he hates it, he doesn't say it's an over-commercialised, harsh, horrible public holiday. Instead, he tells her about Hanukah, about his Mom's cooking and the decorations that she's had for years and will never throw out.

She reminds him of his Mom's new address, and he agrees when she says, "Home is where the heart is."

"Home is with the people who love you," he replies. He doesn't say that for the other eleven and a half months, home is here. With her.

But she watches him and smiles softly, and he thinks that she knows that already.


End file.
